Vanessa Fosso Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Genoa

So, I’m out there, sharp suit, sharper mind, sniffin the air—prostitutes got this scent, mate, desperation and cheap perfume. Reminds me of dissectin folks—figuratively, ‘course. Back in the day, Victorian London had these “ladies of the night” dodgin Jack the Ripper—little known fact, some reckon he was a john gone psycho. Makes ya wonder who’s huntin who, eh? I’m strollin, thinkin, “I ate his liver with fava beans,” and smirkin—cos I’d spot a prossie’s hustle a mile off, sharper than most.

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After that, I needed a break. I strolled down to Piazza della Libertà. Man, that place is beautiful! The fountain was sparkling, and there were these cute little kids playing. Made me smile, you know? But then, outta nowhere, this old lady starts yelling at me. “Hey, you! Get off my bench!” I was like, “Lady, I’m just standing here!” Fosso’s full of characters, I tell ya.

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